Sengoku stared at the simulation map, his pupils contracting sharply.
Darren's "escape route" sprawled across the New World like the scribbles of a drunk man. It zigzagged wildly, looped back on itself, veered into impossible detours. It wasn't a retreat—it was madness.
Getting lost in the New World wasn't rare. Countless pirate crews and even Navy squadrons had perished in its turbulent, labyrinthine seas known as the "Pirate Graveyard." But Sengoku knew Darren far too well. That brat was reckless, yes, but never careless. He would never make such a novice blunder.
"What the hell is going on?" Sengoku snapped, turning toward Tsuru, his voice edged with urgency.
Tsuru shook her head, her eyes troubled. "I don't know. His route defies every shred of logic… almost as if he's just running in circles."
Running in circles? Sengoku blinked. Sakazuki's frown deepened. And at the far end of the table, Borsalino only leaned back with a sly smile tugging at his lips.
"The only certainty is their speed," Tsuru continued. "They're passing an island every few minutes."
Kong rubbed at his temples, cigar clenched between his teeth. His voice rumbled with weary exasperation. "This is giving me a headache…"
"Headquarters can't track them in real time," Tsuru explained. "Every mark on this map comes from scattered eyewitness reports—sailors, merchant ships, island lookouts."
Purupuru… purupuru…
The Den Den Mushi rang. Tsuru snatched it up.
A strained voice crackled through, trembling with tension. "Report! Vice Admiral Darren sighted above Nigwo Island—severely wounded!"
The officers traded uneasy glances.
Sengoku's face hardened, a sheen of cold sweat prickling across his palm. Wounded…? Just how much longer can he hold on?
Before his thoughts could spiral further, the Den Den Mushi cried again.
"Report! Darren has reached Falls Port! His condition is critical! Golden Lion's strike has split the harbor in two!"
A collective gasp swept the room. Falls Port—a critical hub in the New World, even used by Marine branches for supply runs.
But what truly rattled them wasn't the destruction itself—it was the speed.
Tsuru's aide hurriedly flagged the new positions on the war map.
A Rear Admiral muttered in disbelief, "From Fish-Man waters to those locations… a battleship would need an hour at least. They've covered it in five minutes."
If they hadn't seen the evidence themselves, none of them would have believed it.
The room sank beneath a wave of helplessness. Their ships couldn't even dream of matching that pace.
"Damn it!" Sengoku slammed a fist onto the table, the impact rattling cups and inkpots. His breath came heavy, his eyes bloodshot with frustration.
"So what then?" Sakazuki growled, his tone ice-cold. "We just sit here, useless, and wait for news?"
No one answered. Silence weighed heavier than stone. Because that was the truth.
The warships couldn't keep up. Darren's path was erratic beyond prediction. They could only watch.
"What I can't understand…" Kong's gravelly voice cut through the stillness. "Why doesn't he head straight for Headquarters?"
Every eye in the room stiffened.
It was true. Darren should have an Eternal Pose locked on Marineford. With it, he could cut straight across the seas. Even if he didn't reach Headquarters, reinforcements could intercept him en route.
Sengoku's jaw clenched. His voice was low, but it carried like thunder. "Because he wants to kill Golden Lion."
The words struck like a cannon blast. Faces blanched.
Vice Admiral Darren… intended to take Shiki's head? Alone?
Impossible. Not even Sengoku himself, not even Garp, could guarantee such a thing.
Kong exhaled smoke, his eyes shadowed. "…He's afraid that if he heads for us, Shiki will sense the trap and flee."
The realization spread through the officers like a cold tide.
No one spoke. Because there was nothing to say.
Can he do it? That was the only question clawing at their minds. Could Darren truly slay Golden Lion Shiki, a monster spoken of in the same breath as Roger and Whitebeard?
The silence shattered.
Purupuru…
Kong lifted the receiver. "Report."
The voice on the line was taut with disbelief.
"Urgent news! Vice Admiral Darren has left New World waters—he's entered the Calm Belt!"
The Calm Belt?!
Every head snapped to the map.
Sengoku shot to his feet. Sakazuki's face darkened further. Tsuru's pupils narrowed.
And Kong, taking a long drag from his cigar, betrayed himself with the faintest tremor in his hand.
They all knew. They all understood where Darren was headed.
Their eyes fell together on one point upon the map.
The Calm Belt.
This impossible chase had raged for more than a full day and night, and now, finally, the Marine's gambit revealed itself.
"Jihahaha! You can't escape me, brat Darren!" Shiki bellowed across the sky, his twin swords blazing. Each swing unleashed torrents of golden slashes, carving the sea itself apart.
The rudder in his skull burned, his nerves shrieking. Sparks of magnetic static crawled along it, forcing him to sheath his entire head in Armament Haki. It drained his stamina like a leaking wound.
But he didn't care. His eyes were fire, his reason long gone. Only bloodlust remained.
Almost there.
That wretched brat was bleeding out, his strength spent. One more strike—just one—and the chase would end.
A titanic Sea King erupted from below, jaws gaping wide for Shiki. He shredded it to mist with a flurry of blades, never slowing.
"Jihahaha!"
Another slash struck home, carving into Darren's back, spilling more blood into the sky. Still, impossibly, the Marine flew on.
Shiki's grin widened into madness. How is he still alive? How much blood can one body hold? The doubt flickered—and died. The brat was faltering, and that was all that mattered.
One last push…
The sea churned. Winds screamed. They had passed the Calm Belt.
Shiki roared. His blade rose.
Lion's Might: Sea Scroll!
The ocean itself convulsed. Tsunamis as tall as mountains rose like faceless giants, surging forward to swallow the Marine whole.
Darren gritted his teeth, every drop of strength burning, and burst forward—slipping just past the wall of water.
But he had no defense left when Shiki's next slash descended.
Boom!
The golden strike hurled him from the air, smashing him into the island below. Earth and stone split, half the island collapsing in a single cataclysm.
Smoke. Silence.
And then—
From the fractured trench, Darren rose again. Blood streamed from his body, painting him like a demon in scarlet.
Shiki landed before him, a beast's grin splitting his face.
"Not running anymore, Marine runt?" he sneered, his killing intent crashing like a tidal wave.
Darren only panted, head bowed, his ragged breath scraping in and out. The wind stirred his blood-soaked hair.
"Why aren't you running?!" Shiki howled, his face twitching with mania. "Keep running—I'm not finished with you yet!"
And then—
"Why would I run?"
The words cut through the storm, calm and steady.
Shiki froze.
Darren raised his head. His lips curled into a blood-stained grin. His eyes gleamed, sharp and knowing.
"Golden Lion… do you even know where you are?"
A chill gripped Shiki's spine. He saw it now—no fear in the Marine's eyes. Only certainty. Only the smile of a hunter who had finally led his prey into the snare.
Where… where am I?
His gaze darted around wildly. Trees. Rocks. Ocean. Just another nameless island.
He hadn't been watching. He hadn't cared. All he had seen was Darren's back, all he had wanted was blood.
Darren inhaled deeply, spreading his arms as though to embrace the land and sea. His voice rang with iron pride.
"This… is the North Blue."
His grin widened, crimson teeth bared in defiance.
"My North Blue."
The words had barely fallen when a voice thundered from the horizon, cold and merciless as judgment.
"Divine Punishment!"
To be continued...